


It Rains A Lot In West Virginia

by ozsaur



Category: Blood Creek (2009)
Genre: Biting, Brothers, Incest, Kink, M/M, Past Torture, Scars, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/pseuds/ozsaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vic always shows up when it rains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Rains A Lot In West Virginia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



> I'd like to thank my beta, who is always so helpful and encouraging.
> 
> Happy holiday, psychomachia!

Vic always shows up when it rains. It doesn't matter how hard Evan tries to fight it, he's always asleep when Vic wakes him up with a hand over his mouth, and a shhhh that is more felt than heard. It startles him every damn time even though he's come to expect it.

It's dark in the camper, but his father always keeps the porch light on, and it shines through the window at the foot of his bed. Vic is clean shaven now, and his hair is cut close, but the runnels of shadows cast by the rain make him look just as wild as the night he'd escaped from the farm.

Vic doesn't talk. During the day, he hoards every word like a treasure, examining every one before he lets it go. He speaks more with the evasiveness of his eyes, and the straight set of his shoulders telling everyone to keep away.

Evan mostly watches, and leaves the talking to their father who insists on calling Vic a hero even though it makes Vic flinch every time. Barb's chatter doesn't hide her worry, or the questioning glances that Vic refuses to acknowledge. What could he possibly say, anyway? 

Vic hadn't made a sound the first time he'd showed up, except for breathing as if he'd run all the way to the camper through the rain. But his clothes hadn't been all that wet, and it hadn't taken very long before Evan realized why Vic's heart had been racing like a locomotive. 

It's almost a ritual now. After the initial alarm of being awakened, Evan calmly waits for Vic to take his hand off his mouth, then he grabs Vic and hauls him into the bed, climbing on top. He'd never be able to pull such a stunt if Vic didn't want him to, the space being too cramped, and the bed too narrow for two grown men. 

There's a token struggle as Evan strips Vic out of his clothes, and tosses them through the doorway into the kitchenette. Vic is shockingly strong. The Wollner's had taken very good care of their blood sacrifice. The only traces of his ordeal are the dozens of thick scars on his back, and the thinner ones around his wrists, and forearms.

His fingers seek out every mark, starting with the ones around Vic's wrists. He keeps going back to the deeper ones below the elbows, and the gouges over the arteries, and wonders how Vic survived.

He can't really see the scars, the window is behind him, casting his shadow over Vic, but his hands know every single mark. He knows the ones that healed so cleanly they were barely noticeable to the naked eye. Others reveal how hard he'd fought, tearing his own flesh in a vain attempt to escape. Evan's fingers are fascinated by the jagged lines, the hard little ridges, and the tiny pits, some the size of his fingertips, where the skin had been gouged.

When Vic's breath begins to hitch, Evan comes back to himself, and he can feel how hard Vic is trying to control himself, how rigidly he's holding his body. Evan run a hand down his ribs in apology, then helps him roll onto his belly while making soothing nonsense sounds that can barely be heard above the patter of the rain.

Vic shudders when Evan straddles his hips, but it's the first brush of his hands across his shoulders that makes him cry out. The scars there are different, big, sweeping moon shapes that follow the arc of his shoulder. The rest are crisscross patterns in the middle of his back going down to his waist with thinner scratches along his sides, and between the thicker ones.

It looks like some kind of childish scribbling, some kind of bizarre game of tic-tac-toe, or bored doodlings on the back of an envelope. It makes his gorge rise every time he sees them, but it doesn't last long. He swallows, and lets the fascination of touch take over. 

Evan starts at the top of Vic's shoulders with the half-moons on either side of his spine. They'd been cut, and re-cut, the scars thick, and ropey. The ones on Evan's shoulders are a thin reflection, a foundational sketch compared to Vic's finished portrait.

The crisscross marks aren't quite as heavy, though they're bad enough. He gets the sense that less care was taken with them, that the curved scars were the important ones, and the others were done only out of necessity. It's a weird way to think of them since they were all done out of a twisted necessity, but there's a noticeable difference, and he can only imagine that the shoulder scars were the favorites. 

It shames him to even think of the scars that way, but he doesn't let that stop him from leaning down, and pressing his lips to the left half-moon, and then the right. Vic's shoulders go back, his whole body straining as if he were fighting, trying with all his strength to keep something in, or keep something out, Evan can never tell which.

A faint whine escapes Vic's throat as Evan drags his lips across each curved scar, then does it again, and again. The struggle becomes more apparent as Vic's hands scrabble against the mattress, finally grabbing the sheets, and holding on. He moves his forehead back, and forth on the pillow, and his foot smacks the wall next to the bed loud enough to be heard outside if anyone was close enough to hear. Thank God for the rain.

It's terrifying, but Evan doesn't let it stop him, no matter how much he wants to. Stopping would break Vic in ways that are even more terrifying, and Evan isn't fool enough to think that there isn't a part of him that needs this, too.

Evan shifts so his chest is against Vic's back, the scars eagerly meeting his skin. He's so focused on Vic that it always surprises him how good it feels. Evan stretches out so they have full body contact, back to front, scars against unblemished skin. Vic turns his face into the pillow, and bites down, his fists holding so tight to the sheet it's a wonder he doesn't tear them.

He works his hand underneath Vic, and finds his cock is just as hard as Evan's. Vic pushes back against him, still fighting, but not trying to get away, not trying to make him stop. 

They're both breathing hard, covered in sweat, and that makes it easy for Evan to slide his cock between Vic's ass cheeks. He strains to hold himself still, letting the ridges of Vic's scars  
smear their message on his chest, his ribs, his abdomen. It's the unblemished skin of Vic's ass, the smooth muscles cradling his cock, that makes him thrust hard, makes him use his strength to keep Vic pinned to the mattress. 

Vic is still struggling, more with himself than against Evan, but it doesn't matter. He tightens his grip on Vic's cock, and lets him move however he wants. They'll both get there eventually, and Evan has learned that the sooner Vic wears himself out, the better it'll be for both of them.

That's another secret shame, that he takes pleasure in this. Vic needs him; he's half crazy with rage for the two stolen years of his life. Once again, he's been trapped into helping his brother on his terms, so maybe it isn't wrong to get a little of his own back.

It takes a while for Vic to exhaust himself, and Evan just rides through it, licking, and sucking, and mouthing the scars every time Vic starts to flag. He can feel the breaking point coming in the way that Vic shoves up to meet him, stretching his back, exposing the nape of his neck, almost presenting himself.

Evan opens his mouth wide, and sets it against one of the scars. He feels the exact moment when Vic realizes what he's about to do, then he does it. He presses his teeth into the firm skin on either side of the scar, then bites. 

The sound Vic makes sends an electric chill down Evan's spine, but he doesn't let go. Vic roars, and writhes, but somehow sets his shoulder so Evan is never torn loose. Vic isn't quite there yet, so Evan bites down again, and holds on as Vic bucks hard, then goes absolutely still. Vic's release is silent, but Evan can feel every pulse of come through his fingers. It doesn't take long, but the memory will stretch like hours in his mind.

Slowly, very slowly, Vic collapses against the bed, but Evan still hangs on. He drags his hand, wet and sticky, out from under Vic, and takes his own cock, digs his teeth in, and doesn't let go until he comes so hard he can't taste the blood in his mouth anymore.

On the tiny table in the kitchenette, he'd left some papers, and a map. The map is marked in red circles, and lines, and a few jotted notes. He'd been going to the library looking up old newspaper articles, and taken a trip or two to the county records office.

There were eight other "scholars", eight others like Wirth sent from Berlin, eight more monsters in hiding. Evan has pinpointed where the next one is. 

In the morning, Vic is gone. And so are the papers.


End file.
